A Moment Under the Mistletoe
by Wicked-Roses
Summary: A late one-shot response to the WIKTT Mistletoe Challenge. A slightly fluffy SSHG holiday fic.


Disclaimer:

On your way to Flourish and Blotts to purchase the latest Harry Potter Quidditch guide, you find an old rolled up scroll. You quickly bend down and pick it up. Upon unrolling it, you discover that it's blank. However, you remember Harry Potter's adventures with the Marauder's Map from his autobiography, _Harry Potter: Before and After Voldemort._

You take your wand, point it at the scroll, and say, "I solemnly swear that I will not sue Wild Rose, because I know that the Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling, her licensors, and her publishers, not Wild Rose."

Suddenly, words magically begin to appear on the scroll. 

__

Moony: Ah, you figured out the password.

Prongs: Congratulations, but the words that we conceal so carefully will not be so easily revealed.

Wormtail: Yes, we are the keepers of a story that can only be shown to certain eyes, for it contains a pairing that not everyone agrees with.

Padfoot: At least some people have sense to know that the lovely Hermione shouldn't be with that greasy git. Why would she want him when she could have me?

Wild Rose: Oh, Padfoot, you know Sevvie's sexy. Who could resist that snarky Slytherin? I wonder what he looks like in just black silk boxers. 

Padfoot: Ah!!! Images!!!

Wild Rose: Now that I've punished Padfoot for remarking about my sexy Slytherin, it's time to ask you: Do you _agree with the pairing?_

A Moment Under the Mistletoe

The music flowed weightlessly through the Hall like a gentle spring breeze, encompassing those present in a spirit of Christmas merriment that should characterize every Yule Ball. The students laughed and danced and lost themselves in the freedom of youth and the holiday, even the disciplined McGonagall couldn't resist cracking a smile. In this blissful atmosphere, there were only a few immune to the contagious happiness. 

Bound by her Head Girl duties, Hermione Granger sat alone at her table in her elegant dress robes and immaculately-styled hair and watched somberly the loving, sometimes lustful expressions of the dancing couples and listened to the laughter and conversions shared between close friends. This brought a resigned sigh from her lips as she bent her arm to provide a resting place for her head. Why had she bothered to dress up? She could've dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for all the difference it made. 

Gazing at the couples and tables occupied by her classmates once more, she was confronted with the luxuries of love and deep friendship, things that she knew would never belong to her. Muggleborn or not, she was different and expected to never make such intimate connections with others. Even with Harry and Ron, it was a relationship forged more of dependency than true friendship. She depended upon their company to avoid complete isolation, and they valued her useful intellect. She could never talk of Shakespeare, Mozart, or Potions, and she cared nothing for their interest in Quidditch. 

In social situations, among her peers especially, it hurt the most, because she could actually see their happiness. Consequently, she felt awkward and unaccepted when forced into such positions. But she wasn't the only occupant of the Great Hall that understood loneliness. 

Severus Snape prowled the large room and dared anyone to be foolish enough to cross his path or even meet his gaze. Albus had conveniently required his presence at this cursed event, knowing how Severus despised them. An opinion he had fostered in adolescence and hadn't eased with age. Severus suspected Albus still saw him as a troublesome youth and did it as a demonstration of power, much as Severus did in his own classroom. The years and experience had given him a defense he had long ago lacked against these self-pity invoking situations: Anger. A much more suitable emotion.   


Hermione moved from her table and headed in the direction of the exit. Defiance had replaced sadness, and she frankly didn't give a damn if Dumbledore liked it or not. She had suffered enough humiliation and was anxious to embrace the comforting solitude of her chambers. As she neared her destination, a strange unseen force held her pulled her back and held her in place. Her eyes immediately began to search for the culprit. Mistletoe. That bastard Dumbledore. He was responsible for festively scattering the enchanted little things all around the school. 

__

Damn it, she thought, _I should been more attentive. No choice but to stand here and wait._

Lost in her gleefully devious torments for Dumbledore, she was oblivious to the swiftly approaching figure. "Miss Granger," addressed the silky voice, " do you find personal gratification in testing my patience?"

In a bitter mood already, she felt no obligation to play the role of a quivering schoolgirl. "Yes, actually, but pray tell, have I done now?"

"You are blocking my path, you insolent girl." 

"As if I enjoy being trapped by enchanted mistletoe, awaiting some unsuspecting...," she defended indignantly, suddenly remembering her current predicament and with whom she now shared it. 

"What?" he questioned, scanning the ceiling to confirm her claim.

As his eyes narrowed in comprehension, her lips curled upward in a mocking smile. If she had to go through with this ridiculous tradition, she would at least have the satisfaction of knowing Snape had to endure kissing a Gryffindor.

"Unless you are prepared to spend an extended period of time in my company, you better pucker up, Professor."

"I think not."

"Oh, bloody hell," she murmured impatiently.

Grabbing his collar, she drew him down to her lips, only his surprise at her brazenness prevented protest. What came as a shock to both was the lack of revulsion. Though she had anticipated it to be an unpleasant experience, she found it to be one of passion, fueled by suppressed emotions. Her free hand soon snaked its way to the nape of his neck, while her other was unrelenting in its grip on his collar. He, too, allowed his to roam to the small of her back, leaning his body into hers. 

Reluctantly, she pulled back as she became aware of the judgmental stares and hasty whispers around them, though her eyes never left his clouded ones. Regaining his control, his focus turned to those surrounding them, scaring them into returning to their own activities. Then, he met her uncertain eyes and whispered, "Would you care to dance, Miss Granger?" He didn't care if Albus fired him for inappropriate conduct, Severus wasn't ready to let the moment end.

Shocked by the request, she could only nod and timidly smile. The night had begun horribly only to end with an unforgettable moment under the mistletoe. This Christmas she got the greatest gift of all. Love. 

A/N: This fic is based largely on an experience of my own at a dance in high school, though mine didn't have a happy ending. To all those with similar experiences, I hope you all find your own fairytale ending.


End file.
